


this will be the thing to make you

by Atlanta_Black



Series: Merlin One-shots [6]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Arthur Finds Out About Merlin's Magic (Merlin), Arthur Knows About Merlin's Magic (Merlin), Arthur got more braincells this go around, M/M, Morgana Knows about Merlin's Magic (Merlin), Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-08
Updated: 2020-09-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:47:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26350642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Atlanta_Black/pseuds/Atlanta_Black
Summary: Arthur doesn't presume to know everything, but there is one thing that Arthur knows for certain. Knows with a bone shaking surety that terrifies him and leaves his skin cold.He should be dead.
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Series: Merlin One-shots [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1875181
Comments: 11
Kudos: 418





	this will be the thing to make you

Arthur knows many things, about many people. Despite what Morgana seems to think, he is observant and he does pay attention. Unlike Morgana though, he doesn’t feel the need to announce his every observation for the entire castle to hear. 

But, there are lots of things that Arthur’s aware of, many things he’s noticed (all on his own thank you very much). But there’s one thing that Arthur knows for certain. Knows with a bone shaking surety that terrifies him and leaves his skin cold. 

_He should be dead._

Or if not dead, at the very least bleeding out and dying from a knife lodged in his chest. No one, let alone a skinny, underfed peasant, should have been able to reach him in time to save him. No one. His father had been right there next to him, close enough to touch, and he couldn’t have done it because their bodies had been weighed down. Had been sluggish and unresponsive. It had felt as if he was moving through air so thick he’d choke on it before the knife ever reached him. 

And yet here he is. Not dead. Something that his father didn’t seem to find at all suspicious. And Merlin, glaring up at him as if being the personal servant to the Prince of Camelot was an insult graver than anything else in the world. 

Merlin, who had saved him. Who had moved and pushed him as if there was nothing weighing down his body. Nothing strange and sluggish floating in the air. 

He has an idea of what that means but he stays quiet. Because it sounds mad. Because he doesn’t want to reward a good deed with death. Because Merlin already seems to hate him enough as it is and it’s not that he cares about that but, it leaves something bitter sitting in his stomach and crawling up his throat. 

And also, because, it makes no sense. Because if Merlin is what Arthur suspects and if he hates Arthur so much, then why? Why did he save him? Why not let the dagger hit him? 

There are too many questions and not enough answers and Merlin is still glaring at him, looking as if he would rather be anywhere but here.   


⚔

  
_I know I'm just a servant and my word doesn't count for anything. I wouldn't lie to you._

The worst part of course is that Arthur believes him. He’s wide eyed and earnest and neatly handing Arthur what might as well be proof of his suspicions. Who else would have ever thought to suspect a knight of cheating using magic? 

_I wouldn’t lie to you._

But why not, Arthur wants to scream at him. Why in god’s name not? _Why do you want me to live so badly that you’ll make it harder for yourself to stay hidden?_

He doesn’t ask any of these things because he’s not a fool. Merlin hasn’t even been his servant for a full fortnight. He doesn’t trust him to not run if Arthur hints at knowing what he’s hiding. Doesn’t trust him to not run even if Arthur is wrong, and he doesn’t want to scare someone out of Camelot because he has suspicions and not enough proof. 

“I want you to swear to me that what you say is true,” he murmurs lowly, not taking his eyes off of Merlin’s. 

“I swear,” Merlin says, voice pitching low in an attempt to match Arthur’s and for just a second, barely long enough to even draw a breath, he would swear he sees gold spark to life in those eyes. 

“Then I believe you.” What he doesn’t say is that this belief will do neither of them any good. He already knows how this is going to go but, let it never be said that he didn’t at least try.   


⚔

  
He doesn’t mean to fire Merlin. He truly doesn’t, if for no other reason than he wants to keep Merlin close until he figures out if his suspicions are true. But the boy doesn’t know when to shut up and he feels as if he’s going to fucking crawl out of his skin and—  
—well, it doesn’t really matter does it?

He knows that Merlin is telling the truth. Which means, he knows that tomorrow he will die. There isn’t much he can do and he very much doubts that Merlin can do anything to stop it. Or, rather, if his suspicions are true, he doubts that Merlin can do anything to stop it without outing himself to the whole kingdom. Which is to say that Merlin can do nothing at all. 

He stares out the window, and inexplicably finds himself wondering what Merlin’s eyes would look like painted gold and glowing. Wonders what it would feel like to be saved by something he’s been taught so violently to hate. 

It tastes like sweet wine and blackberries he decides the next day, staring down at the snake on Valiant’s shield that he knows shouldn’t have appeared. Tastes like something so sweet he’d walk to hell just for another taste.   


⚔

  
Merlin has a purple flower tucked securely in his scarf, a flower from Morgana’s maid, and then the next day, Tom, Guinevere’s father, has mysteriously recovered from an incurable illness. Arthur can’t help but feel that Merlin is leaving breadcrumbs for Arthur to follow. Just enough to keep him convinced that his servant is breaking the law, but never enough to outright implicate himself. 

He just keeps wishing that Merlin would do something, _anything_ , so that Arthur would know for sure whether he’s got the right end of the stick. And then Merlin comes storming into the council, interrupting his father, and announcing to all who can hear that he’s the sorcerer polluting the well and Arthur regrets ever wishing for anything at all. Of course Merlin would find a way to mess even this up. 

Gaius goes a sickly shade of grey, eyes widening in horror, and that more than anything else convinces him that he must be right. Not that he believes for one minute that Merlin polluted the well, that was nonsense if he’d ever heard it, but he can read the truth of the magic in the trembling of Merlin’s lips. 

Truly, the fact that his father buys his, honestly obvious, lie is a miracle in itself and once Camelot was safe he’d be sure to let Merlin know in excruciating detail what an _idiot_ he was. 

Later, Merlin’s whispered spell still lingering in the air and the screams of the monster still ringing in his ears, he wonders how anyone could look at this strange, bumbling country boy and not know right away that he was magical. If he closes his eyes, he can still see the barest glint of gold caught on the edge of his vision. 

He meets Morgana’s eyes and knows that she’s seen it too, just as he knows that she’ll never say anything at all, her heart already far kinder than his has ever been. Merlin exclaims about how lucky it is that the fire worked and he sighs, closes his eyes and agrees, unable to do anything else in the face of the relief that seems to carve its way through Merlin’s face. Relief that he’d bought such an obvious lie. Relief that he hadn’t been caught. 

Later that night he dreams of Merlin on the pyre _burning, burning, burning_ and wakes with a scream lodged in his throat. He doesn’t understand, he truly doesn’t. Merlin is only a servant, not even a good one at that, and yet, and yet—  
—it feels as if, as if losing him would carve some unnamable grief into Arthur’s chest. Would leave him shattered and bleeding. Would leave him not much more than a hollow prince, doomed to forever walk in his father’s shadow. 

He doesn’t understand the bond that he inexplicably feels to Merlin, but he understands the fear. So he resolves to make sure that no harm comes to Merlin. A simple enough oath to make to himself he thinks.   


⚔

  
A simple enough oath until Merlin breezes his way into the middle of the hall ranting about poison. A simple enough oath until he looks Arthur in the eye and says, so softly, _it’s okay_. Until he’s choking on the floor, Arthur’s heart beating out a staccato rhythm in his chest. 

He doesn’t mean to hesitate. Doesn’t, not truly. Not even with his father’s words still echoing in his ears like a bad dream. But he considers the magic, the gold he knows lives in Merlin’s eyes and wonders, wouldn’t it be simpler this way? Merlin’s bound to be caught eventually, and truly, despite the ill thought out oath he’d sworn himself, there is only so much Arthur can do in the face of his father’s anger. 

Thinks that right until Morgana storms in with scathing words and piercing eyes. “Tell me Arthur,” she snarls, looking as if she’d like to bare her teeth at him. “Do you hesitate because he is a servant or because of what you know he is?” 

“You should be thankful I do know, or you would have just signed his death warrant,” he snaps, wondering if she’ll ever truly learn to stop and think before she speaks. “Besides, if you hadn’t heard, my father won’t allow me to go.” 

“And your father would allow you to have a sorcerer as a servant?’ She raises an eyebrow, daring him to argue. He knows where she’s going with this and he finds himself helpless against the argument. 

“And if I don’t make it back?” He asks, already knowing the argument is lost. “Who will be the next king of Camelot?” 

“And what kind of king would Camelot want?” She asks, gaze steady, as if they aren’t calmly discussing treason in his chambers. “One that would risk his life to save that of a lowly servant? Or one who does what his father tells him to?” She holds out his sword. 

“He isn’t merely a servant,” he mutters, despite the fact that he’s already reached out to take the sword. 

She doesn’t respond, merely smiling at him and stepping out of his way.   


⚔

  
Later, clinging to the wall of the cave, the clicking of legs on the rock crawling across his skin, he finds himself wildly wishing that Merlin was here with him. A ridiculous thought, since he wouldn’t be out in the middle of this godforsaken place if Merlin were well enough to be with him. But he wishes for it anyways.

He supposes, in light of these wishes, the blue light that appears, seeming to cast a blanket of warmth over him, shouldn’t be a surprise at all. But he resolves, even as he hurriedly climbs the cave wall, that this time, as soon as Merlin is well, he’ll confront him about it. Has to confront him about it. 

But he knows, as soon as he sees Merlin looking far too small under a blanket that looks far too thin, that he will do no such thing at all. And if a new, much thicker, much warmer blanket gets delivered to Merlin’s chambers later, well he can’t imagine how that could have happened. 

Merlin thanks him the next day, oddly shy considering how difficult it usually is for Arthur to get him to show even a hint of decorum. But Arthur watches him stutter through a thank you, and finds himself tracing the edge of his jaw, and the flush of his cheeks and thinks _thank god, thank god, thank god_. Finds himself wondering, wishing, for even a glimpse of the gold that he knows lives in Merlin’s eyes. 

Finds himself wishing for something that he has no words for, that crawls its way up his ribs, taking root in his heart, and whispers _this will be the thing to make you_.   


⚔

  



End file.
